


Collected Comment Ficlets

by Silverhelme



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, Drabble Collection, Fluff and Angst, Multi, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverhelme/pseuds/Silverhelme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collected responses to various prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Tender is the night/lying by your side/tender is the touch/of someone that you love too much_

The little room is bathed in quiet darkness, soft moonlight filtering through the window and dusting the bed where they lay, tucked away from the evening chill beneath a warm blanket, cuddled close together, yet only one of them sleeps. 

"I love you too much," she finally whispers, reaching out a finger to stroke her infant son's chubby fist, starlight catching in his wispy dark hair as her heart surges, with such indescribable, incredible love, just from watching him dream.  "And, my little Merlin… I always will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song of the same name, by Blur.


	2. Calico Skies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _It was written that I would love you/from the moment I opened my eyes_

When Arthur Pendragon first opened his eyes, he was a squalling, red-faced infant without a mother--a fact that would haunt him for the remainder of his short childhood. He did not know that he was a child with a destiny, or what the future held for him, or what would be written. 

(But he would find out soon enough.)

When Arthur Pendragon was four years old, he was tended by a nurse who smelled of chamomile and peppermint, who coddled him to her fat bosom and fussed over the various cuts and scrapes he received from stumbling down the palace steps.

When Arthur Pendragon was nine-and-a-half years old, girls were a nuisance and bloody (he liked that word, _bloody_ , he'd heard it from some of the knights at training, and it was fun to say, a bad word) Morgana was the worst of them all--it wasn't _his_ fault she'd shoved him out of the tree in the palace gardens! And if Arthur had to push her back later, well. A prince has his honour to consider, doesn't he? 

(Father hadn't agreed.) 

When Arthur Pendragon was fourteen-almost-fifteen years old, he had received his first kiss from the visiting daughter of Lord-someone-or-other whose name he couldn't recall; a breathless snog behind a shadowed pillar that tasted of too-sweet wine and afforded him a fumblingly chaste inspection of a lady's bodice, mostly the conclusion that all of those ties took far more concentration than he possessed.

When Arthur Pendragon was eighteen years and three days old, he nearly bowled over Morgana's maidservant in the corridor--and while she blushingly stammered apologies, he looked closer; brow furrowing as he took in, for the first time, how pretty she was. More than pretty, though. Something… well. Different about her.

(He never forgot this day, though he tried.) 

When Arthur Pendragon was twenty-two years old and the crown prince, he found himself pressing a tender kiss to the gentle lips of that very maidservant, heart pounding and blood rushing as he endeavoured his very hardest to convey his gratitude, his affection for her generosity, her unashamed honesty. And at that moment, it felt as if a swarm of butterflies had been set loose about his insides, a giddy joy that he attributed to the impending tournament--never knowing how wrong he was.

When Arthur Pendragon was twenty-four years old and prince regent of Camelot, he bid his love goodbye with the knowledge that he was going to meet his death--a noble sacrifice, and something she need not know of until too late, because he could never bear her sorrow knowing he was the cause. And so he held her close, stroked her cheek and begged for a smile, because he had finally learned: death could never steal that memory from the deepest part of his heart.

(Yet he did not die there, thanks to Merlin.)

And when Arthur Pendragon becomes the Once and Future King, he steals away his wife from their infant son's cradle for an afternoon picnic, tempting her with the greenest field in Camelot and acres of fresh flowers: lilies and lavender and roses and daisies scattered about them, pressing her gently into the blanket and chuckling into her throat as she murmurs sweetly at him to mind the fruit tart currently trampled beneath his knee. 

Afterwards they entwine hands and watch the sky fade, sunset streaming across the sky in brilliant shades of gilded orange and rosy pink, warm and blissful and safe. Because here, they are no longer King and Queen, they are Arthur and Gwen, and this is the very simplest of pleasures: love beneath calico skies, for as long as their lives allow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and prompt from Paul McCartney's song of the same name.


	3. So Much of Me, In You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Merlin/Morgana, AU post-S3 confrontation, Morgana has never forgiven him for giving her the poison, and Merlin has never forgiven himself. She takes advantage. Prelude to the epic Merlin/Morgana magic showdown we never saw in the show.

"What are you going to do, _Merlin_?" The ridges of her tongue curl around his name, traces of an accent nearly abandoned rushing to the surface as swollen lips twist into a beautiful, savage snarl. She spits out each word as her eyes met his, flinty green driving hard into tormented, stormy blue: defiant, daring him to move, taunting him even as she lays splayed out beneath him, his long thin fingers trembling as they tighten around her wrists, as if he can hold back the power boiling beneath her skin.

She nearly laughs--for such a fiercely vigilant challenger, he knows so very little sometimes-- instead letting a burst of exultant rage burn within, arching to meet the curve of his throat, a slender swan's neck fitting against his skin. Searing heat collides against his ear as she leans forward, crimson lips biting out her next words and he feels himself reeling in the scent of her tangled hair, wet moss and ashes and wine. " _Hurt me_ , Merlin."

" _K_ _ill_ me--I know you want to." He shuts his eyes and forces out a gasp between his teeth, begging her to stop, stop violating his thoughts with the malevolence she holds so dear, stop dragging them towards a precipice they can never return from; he won't, he's better than this and he won't use her own tricks against her, not like this… 

"Don't tell me you're a coward," she whispers tauntingly, fingers suddenly free and raking nails across the nape of his neck, twisting the tiny short strands against her palm while he shudders and wrenches his eyes open, her mouth at his ear. "This is what you've always wanted, isn't it?" Her voice is chillingly soft, a murmur from between silk sheets as she runs a finger lightly across his ear and it's wrong, so wrong; her touches are those of a lover even in the midst of this poisonous game. 

"No," he chokes out, not wanting to hear her anymore as his hands flee from her arms, heart thudding against his ribcage, scattered mind desperately clinging to flickering memories of Arthur, of Uther, of a dagger raised high and scarlet blood splashing across his view, of the dead piled around Camelot like so much refuse; the dead _she_ claimed by her malice and by her design. " _No_ , Morgana!"

Springing back, he swallows feverishly before raising his hand, readying every shred of magic he's ever possessed even as she barely stirs, the folds of her gown rippling lightly upon the altar and he wants to scream, wants to grab her and shake her and demand an explanation for _why_ , even as her voice echoes off the stone, dangerous and final.

"I'm giving you your chance, Merlin." 

He feels the magic pulsing through him now, his entire body thrumming with it, so completely filled that he aches with it, the power of the Old Religion surging through as he gasps, shakes his head once before his vision scatters into streaks of light and shadow, pain shooting through him like a flame.

And slowly, oh-so-slowly she's slinking off the stone, skirts pooling around her feet like some dark shade, her hand rising even as he watches numbly; there is so much of him in her, and yet none at all, and he feels the burning heat of a single tear slicking down his cheek as she meets his gaze, for the last of this lifetime.

" _Very well_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title credit to Maroon 5's "No Curtain Call".


	4. Supposed to Grow Old (With You)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Arthur/Merlin, Camlann. AU where Arthur knows about the magic, Merlin is his Court Warlock.

" _Arthur!_ "  

The scream tears out of his throat without warning, raw and gone and then he's dropping to his knees, breath knocked out of him as his knees slide in the grass, slick with dew and blood-- _Arthur's blood_ \--and he can't, tears are leaking out of his eyes as he moves shaking hands beneath his King's shoulders, gently cradling Arthur against his chest even as his face contorts, gasping out a muffled sob. 

Arthur's clear blue eyes watch him, blinking quietly as he brings a gloved hand to rest against Merlin's arm, his own lower lip trembling as he looks up to the best friend he's ever had, falling to pieces around him. "Merlin, please…" 

The warlock strangles another choking sob, shifting his arms a bit to hold him more tightly, looking down with bleary, red-rimmed eyes and cheeks still dripping with helpless desperate tears; one lands upon Arthur's forehead and his King smiles weakly, even as Merlin's gaze begins to trail down his chest, to the gaping hole in his mail and the bloodied edges of the wound, lake-blue eyes already calculating how to heal him-- 

"Merlin." That frantic, frightened gaze is trained upon him, and he shakes his head gently, reaching up to squeeze the warlock's shoulder, rubbing his thumb against the blood-spattered robes and trying to reassure him as best as he can. 

"Arthur no, you can't--"

He swallows quietly, adam's apple barely bobbing in his throat as he watches his dearest friend, feeling the edges of his gaze begin to slip from his grasp as he whispers. "It's my time, Merlin."

"No, no, it's not--" A fresh flood of tears is set loose when the warlock shakes his head, stubbornly, refusing to believe it, begging him as his voice breaks. "You _prat_ , no! You can't leave me, _please_ \--"

"I don't want to…" His King sucks in a shuddery breath with stinging eyes and cheeks wet, and he can't tell whether they're his or Merlin's now, or both. "We were supposed to grow old together," he murmurs, biting his lip even as he smiles faintly, dropping his hand from Merlin's shoulder to grip his sleeve, loosely. Not long now. 

"Old and… and fat. And I was going to tease you mercilessly about your wretched beard." Merlin chokes at that, a ghost of a laugh even though tears are dripping down his face, and he stifles another sob as Arthur lets his head rest against his warlock's chest, taking comfort in the safety of it, gloved fingers fisted in Merlin's tattered sleeve.

"We can still do that," the warlock protests desperately, another teardrop escaping and splashing onto Arthur's cheek as he sniffles. "Let me heal you and I'll never complain once--"

He shakes his head, chuckling feebly though he's beginning to feel cold, and he nestles closer against his friend, savouring the last bit of warmth around him as he murmurs gently, rebukingly; the shade of a grin on his lips. "It's not any fun if you don't complain."

"Arthur, _please!_ " And Arthur manages enough strength to shake his head, just once more, as Merlin's quivering hand moves to brush against his cheek, and he reaches for it, pressing his bloodied fingers over Merlin's with the last of everything he is, even as he hears his warlock vowing, his voice somehow distant and far away and choked with tears. " _I will heal you, this isn't the end_ …"

But it is, it is the end, and Arthur feels himself slipping away, gaze dimming, and he tilts his face upward, catching his last glimpse through fading lids of the very best friend he's ever had, of the better half of him, of Merlin. And, as his last breath ghosts through his lips, he softly squeezes his warlock's hand and smiles. 

_Thank you._

 


End file.
